


Bothered

by Katzedecimal



Series: The Sounds of Silence [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sherlock didn't open his mouth for days; it didn't bother John Watson.  Until it did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bothered

_"Sometimes I don't talk for days - would that bother you?"_ And it hadn't. It really hadn't. 

It was the second thing Sherlock Holmes had revealed about himself, before he'd even revealed his name. John had thought perhaps it might bother him, given how the silence of his bedsit had driven him out into the world. But it hadn't. It really hadn't. 

Sherlock was silent when he had nothing to say. He was silent when John was talking, because he didn't have anything to add, or because John wasn't saying anything that required a response. Sometimes when Sherlock talked, John found he couldn't reply, because he had no knowledge of the subject, or he didn't quite understand. So he listened in silence. Perhaps that should have bothered him, but it didn't. It really didn't. 

The quiet in 221b was a comfortable quiet. It was punctuated by the ticking of the clock, the clicking of the radiators, the rattle of the windows and doors. It was defined by the rustle of Sherlock's sleeves as he reached for this or that, or the pace of his feet, or the occasional clearing of his throat. It was described by the clicking of the keys as John typed his blog entries or Sherlock typed his reports. It was a cozy quiet, a snug quiet. Sometimes John wondered if he should want a more lively home life, but he didn't. He really didn't. 

It wasn't always quiet in 221b. John would flip on the telly or Sherlock would play his violin. There were interviews for cases. There were rants against NSY. There were jokes and puns and complaints about what was in the fridge today. There was Mrs. Hudson nattering away. There were arguments with Mycroft. There were arguments with John. And maybe that should have upset him, but it didn't. It really didn't. 

John went on dates. He courted women, took them out to dinner, and he talked to them and tried to get to know them. He put on his face of the friendly, amiable doctor, the sweet little man in the cuddly jumpers. He buried the other side of him, the side who killed people who weren't nice, who pulled rank and had nightmares, who had bad days, who saw lots and lots of trouble. He kept all of that hidden and made pleasant conversation. Sometimes the pauses in conversation would stretch into awkward silences and it bothered him. It really did.

So he would come home to 221b and he would close the door. He'd take off his coat and meet the eyes of his flatmate, who'd know at a glance how the date had gone but would still give a little smile that John had once thought to be sarcastic but had turned out to be a sort of 'better luck next time.' And he would drop the mask and unbury his other side and he would feel relief from the pressure of expectation. He'd go to the kitchen to get a beer then sit in his chair and breathe a sigh into the silence that wasn't awkward, because nothing needed to be said. And he was grateful for that. He really was. 

But now 221b was silent. John sat in his chair and the clock ticked and the radiators clicked and the windows rattled. But the floor didn't creak under pacing feet. The papers didn't rustle because no sleeves dragged over them. There was no throat to clear and no one to argue with. There were no cases to interview, no rants against NSY, no jokes or puns and nothing in the fridge to complain about. The violin sat in its case, silent. 

Sherlock Holmes would never open his mouth again. And it bothered him. It really, really did.


End file.
